


Better This Way

by WordsNeverFailUs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel is so patient, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean is just scared, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Sam Winchester is Right, Temporary Break Up, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsNeverFailUs/pseuds/WordsNeverFailUs
Summary: Dean ought to have known better. He didn’t want things to go down this way- every atom of his being loved Cas more than life itself, but that didn’t mean he could have something good without screwing it up somehow. Dean ought to have known better than to think he could be what Cas deserved. Isn’t that the crux of it all anyway? If he didn’t do something now, didn’t split himself open and shut himself down and lock Cas out, well, it was gonna happen sometime down the road and it would just be that much harder. It was over the second it started, no matter when the other shoe fell. No, this was for the best. Probably. Maybe.-A story about Dean's self destructive tendencies and fear of losing whatever happiness he finds. A story about how desperately Castiel loves him, and the patience that requires.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends! I haven't posted any kind of writing in over 7 years, but with the end of SPN's canon coming to a (hopefully temporary) close, I just couldn't stay away. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a long time, ever since I heard the song One Too Many by Keith Urban and P!nk. I hope you enjoy it! I am also publishing this little story as a test run to see if I could manage something bigger. I'm so grateful you stopped to read this! No writer can stay away from the blank page forever, but having someone read your work certainly makes it so much more rewarding.

A shattering glass of whiskey against the wall of the library.

A series of flickering lights all the way down the hall.

A slamming bedroom door.

Deafening silence.

Dean ought to have known better. He didn’t want things to go down this way- every atom of his being loved Cas more than life itself, but that didn’t mean he could have something good without screwing it up somehow. He should have known he was his own downfall, that he was going to so irreparably damage his blossoming relationship with Cas that it would all crumble around him. Dean ought to have known better than to settle into their own brand of domestic bliss. Dean ought to have known better than to think he could be what Cas deserved. Isn’t that the crux of it all anyway? If he didn’t do something now, didn’t split himself open and shut himself down and lock Cas out, well, it was gonna happen sometime down the road and it would just be that much harder. It was over the second it started, no matter when the other shoe fell. No, this was for the best. Probably. Maybe. 

He watched in slow motion as the glass left his hand, spraying the floor with whiskey. Watching the glass shatter against the concrete wall was like looking into a mirror. He didn’t turn to watch Cas walk down the hall to their shared bedroom. Or what used to be, anyway. He just saw the flicker of lights and heard faint restrained, controlled breaths disappear further into the bunker. Well, at least one of them knew how to keep their cool. 

Dean didn’t flinch when he heard the slam of the bedroom door. It made sense - over time, Cas had collected his own few belongings (not to mention the few outfits Dean had gotten for him to supplement the trench coat ensemble), and up until right now those belongings took up residence in Dean’s bedroom, migrating one by one until he stopped using his own room altogether. What Dean expected was more slammed doors, more small sounds that indicated angry (sad?) movement. Transition back from the shared bedroom to his old one. It was misplaced hope and naivete to think Cas would stick around after a fight like that, though. Dean felt disconnected from his body as Cas silently walked back down the hall to the garage. Something inside him screamed to run after Cas, to gather him up in his arms and take it all back, apologize and declare his love over and over until his voice gave out, but he couldn’t get his body to move. He was chained to his chair by nothing but his own shame and earth-shattering heartbreak. He stared at the shards of glass for some amount of time - seconds, days, years, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He could sit there in that chair and waste away into nothing, for all he cared. When he was sure enough time had passed that surely Cas would have come back inside if he were going to, he resigned to the fact that Cas was  _ gone _ gone. The realization felt a little like feeling his soul slowly drain out of his body, and he was left an empty shell. 

Days passed. Nights too, probably, but Dean neither slept nor left the bunker so it isn’t like it made a difference. All Dean could see when he closed his eyes was the man clinging to the lifeless corpse of his wife, coated thoroughly in her blood. Every time the memory appeared, it only took a fraction of a second to see himself there on the ground instead, clinging to Cas’ body, covered in Cas’ blood. It wasn’t like Dean had never lost Cas- hell, he’d lost both Cas and Sam more times than he bothered to count and somehow both were still here. He was still here, too. But that was before. Before doe eyes and soft kisses and shared beds. That was before love confessions in Baby’s front seat and realizing his world began and ended with blue eyes and a soft smile. The second he saw that grieving widower while on their last hunt, the second he realized that losing Cas one more time would well and truly kill him but that it was almost inevitable in the life they lead, there seemed to be no reasonable response except to let it go. Push it down. Lock it away. Run so fast in the opposite direction that the preemptive agony of loss might never reach him. 

Seeing that man cry himself empty into his dead wife’s hair put a lot into perspective for Dean- he couldn’t be that man. The man that failed to save someone he loved. The man that would have to go on living without his other half. Even more, he couldn’t let Cas be that man. It was too real now, they meant too much to each other. It was too risky. They were too close. What else could he do to protect himself, to protect Cas, but to end it? One of them was bound to die, and die bloody- for good this time. With their record, it wouldn’t take long once they were both happy. And god, were they  _ happy _ . Smile-for-no-reason, hold-hands-over-morning-coffee happy. Until Dean just went and fucked it all up, anyway. 

More days passed. Sam had been understanding once he figured out what happened, mostly letting Dean mope around in numb silence while providing silent support. Dean was often grateful for his younger brother’s intuition and understanding, but never more so than when he was able to put most of the pieces of what happened together without Dean having to verbalize it. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. It was too much. Too terrible. One of the worst things he could have done, and shit if that wasn’t a high bar. He had taken the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced and ripped it into pieces himself, simply out of fear that someone else might do it someday. Part of him regretted it with everything he had, wanted nothing more than to call Cas and bring him home and promise to fix it. But the rest of him knew there was no point- what if he’d gone too far, done such a thorough job of crushing their relationship that he was never able to put any of it back together? Maybe it’s better that way. He wasn’t sure. 

Dean hadn’t been too fond of coherent thoughts (or the nightmares that found him in his unconsciousness) so around day 3 or 4 he slipped into a state of perpetual intoxication. At first, Sam had commented how glad he was that Dean wasn’t trying to fill the void with alcohol, but that resolve only lasted a couple days. He’d been on the right side of alcoholism for long enough that he didn’t want to give in to it again, but the longer he sat with his own guilt and loneliness, the less he really cared. Anything to numb the excruciating pain. 

There was a constant battle in him that never slowed down and never yielded a winner; he loved Cas, wanted to be with him, and never wanted him to be in pain- but he had gone and caused him immeasurable pain with no real, legitimate reason. However, if Dean could cause him pain like this, Cas deserved someone much better anyway and was probably ultimately better off without the Winchesters constantly putting him in harm’s way. It was a revolving door of guilt and inadequacy, desperate love and self-hatred. He felt confident that there was nothing he could do but drink until he passed out, and hope when he woke up that it wouldn’t hurt as much as the night before (it always hurt worse, if only because he knew how disappointed Cas would be in him). 

Dean was grateful that Sam stayed blessedly uninvolved for the most part (he was never particularly involved in his relationship with Cas, mostly just quietly and fondly approving), but that only held up for about a week before he was getting lectures about alcoholism and the toll it takes on the human body. As if Dean was really concerned about his health. Once Sam came to the conclusion that the alcoholism speech wasn’t working, he switched to depression and vitamin D deficiency and pleaded with Dean to get out, even if it’s just to take a drive. 

“I just don’t want you to dig yourself into a hole you can’t get out of. At least come with me to the grocery store.”

“It ain’t happenin’, Sammy,” Dean had mostly gotten the hang of enunciating enough to not be slurring his words (not that he had done much talking- he mostly communicated with grunts and single syllables these days). Fortunately, this afternoon’s buzz was really just closer to tipsy- just close enough to sober that he was grateful Sam was giving him something else to think about besides Cas for 5 seconds.

“I know you miss him. Hell, I miss him too, but no matter what happened, you know he wouldn’t want you to go down this way. You haven’t left the bunker in 10 days. Please, Dean.” Sam was looking a little more desperate today- a little more worried too, maybe. Dean didn’t care too much though, certainly not enough to get dressed or go out somewhere. Plus, he was not nearly drunk enough to be able to stand sliding into the impala’s front seat, where his last conversation with Cas had started. He wasn’t sure it was  _ possible _ for him to be drunk enough to handle that yet. 

This same conversation happened at least once a day moving forward. Sam would express varying degrees of concern, beg him to leave for just a little bit (or to at least take a shower and drink some water, which he occasionally would), and try to be empathetic. It took another week of having that same conversation over and over before Dean actually started to think about Sam’s words a little. 

Sam missed Cas? He didn’t seem to know what actually went down. How bad Dean screwed up. Does that mean Sam isn’t talking to Cas? Has he even tried to call, or find out where he went? Does Cas answer his phone? Is he ok? What if he’s alone? What if he  _ isn’t _ alone? What if Dean pushed him too far and he does something stupid? What if something happens to him but he doesn’t think he can call them for help? What if he does do something stupid and  _ can’t _ call for help? It is at the end of this string of fearful thoughts that Dean realizes, fully and truly, what a grave mistake he’s made. The number of times he has pushed Cas away or let him go is far too high for Cas to ever come back, not after the things he said this time. All the promises they’d made, and Dean just went and broke every one of them. He didn’t deserve Cas back, even if he would come back (deep down he knew Cas was too good and loyal, that even now if they needed him he would come). 

It’s on day 16 when Dean shuffles into the library where Sam is sitting, mug of coffee in one hand and book of ancient literature in the other. Sam glances up, and when his eyes scan Dean’s face he immediately grows more concerned- the flushed cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, and shaky hands tell the story of a man who cried himself awake this morning after a series of nightmares and hasn’t yet had his first drink of the day. Sam had yet to see any evidence that Dean cried about this even once; it had been nothing but empty gazes and numb responses, with the occasional outburst of defensive anger. Dean looked as broken now as Sam had ever seen him. 

“Dean? What’s going on, is everything ok?”

Normal Dean would have scoffed and cracked a joke about the Winchester standard for ‘ok’.

This Dean stares resolutely at Sam and ignores the question altogether.

“Have you talked to Cas?” His voice shakes more than his hands do. The answer terrifies him, but it was this morning (and after last night’s nightmares) that not knowing finally became scarier than asking.

When Sam hesitates, it’s because he doesn’t know if his answer is going to help Dean or make things worse. When Dean sees Sam hesitate, he immediately feels fear like ice crawl up his spine.

“I spoke to him briefly on the phone about a week ago.” Sam exudes both calmness and trepidation as he speaks, recalling the short conversation they had. Sam had called Cas to make sure he was ok, and to let him know that he was there should Cas need anything. Cas had been grateful for the call and assured Sam he was not in any danger, but declined to share anything else. Needless to say, Sam was pretty worried because Cas stopped answering the phone after that, but he knew better than to share that with Dean. 

It’s evident in the way Dean slumps forward on the next exhale that he’d been holding his breath, and that Sam’s answer was at least somewhat positively received. 

“Do you know where he is? Is he ok?” Dean is not invested in being dignified at the moment- he’s mostly concerned about the wellbeing of the love of his life (if only he’d thought about that 16 days ago)- so if his tone verges on desperate, he doesn’t have the energy or emotional wherewithal to bother being embarrassed. 

Sam hesitates again. Dean waits, and he’s pretty sure that while he’s going for “angry impatience” on his face it ends up more “hopeful sadness”. He’s still a bit tipsy from last night, and overwhelmingly nauseous, so it’s hard to tell. 

“I really think you should just call him, Dean.”

“He doesn’t want to hear from me, Sam. You didn’t hear the things I said.”

_ I can’t do this, Cas. _

_ It was always gonna end bad. No use putting it off. _

_ It was stupid to think this was gonna go anywhere anyway. _

_ Whatever this is, whatever we are, I just can’t. _

_ I’m done pretending we can have this. It’s over. _

“I’m pretty sure that whatever you said, you’ve said or done worse. He forgives you every time, Dean. Every single time.” Sam snaps him back to the present with a hefty dose of reality, and it feels a little (a lot) like he’s been punched in the face. Sam’s right, and Dean knows it. He’s screwed Cas over more times than he could stand to count, and Cas came back to them every time. Came back to  _ Dean. _ Every time. 

But this is different, somehow. Deeper. Harsher. Crueler, because it was about  _ them _ . Even if Cas would answer his call, even if by some miracle Cas would come back and they worked through all Dean’s shit, the shame that has taken up permanent residence in Dean’s chest isn’t going anywhere. Really, if he were to face Cas and make an apology, forgiveness would only make him feel worse. Being faced with the inherent goodness and loyalty of  _ Cas  _ would only prove how unworthy he is of that much love. 

No, calling Cas just wasn’t in his cards. He couldn’t do it. He made his choice and now he was having to face the consequences. If Sam talked to him, and didn’t seem to be worried, then Cas must be ok. He has to be. He’s one of the strongest people Dean has every known- he’s gotta be ok. 

More ok than Dean, anyway.

Not like that was a difficult standard to meet.

All together, it takes 21 days for Dean to leave the bunker for the first time. It was the revelation that it had been three full weeks since Cas left combined with Sam’s constant nagging about his new habits that drove him to another level of desperation. He had to get out, to go somewhere-  _ anywhere _ else but the bunker.

That is how he ended up at this shady bar on a Thursday night, a good distance south of Lebanon. It was far enough that it didn’t crack the list of bars he and Sam would occasionally visit, but tonight he appreciated the unfamiliarity as he indulged himself. Beer. Whiskey. Shots. Boring conversations with flirty bartenders who slipped him their numbers. No matter what straws he grasped at, all he could think about was Cas. All he could hear was him crying out to Dean, telling Dean to fight for them anyway, to not give up without talking about it first, and the slamming door. All he could see was bloodshot blue eyes, angry and sad and lost. Shouldn’t it have faded at all by now? Shouldn’t his ears have stopped ringing, shouldn’t the whole bottles of whiskey have dulled any of the pain? 

If there was any hope for alcohol as a solution, any number of glasses he could empty that would stop him from feeling the loss down in his bones, he was going to find out tonight.

The whole evening, and some of the early morning, passed in a throat-burning blur. By the time Dean realized he had kinda-sorta almost forgot about Cas for a minute while he talked to the bartender, it was 1:30 and he also realized he was a little surprised he was even still conscious. That progression of semi-coherent thought brought him then to the fact that he had to get home somehow (no way was he sleeping in his car in the parking lot, thank you very much). Driving home was probably a bad idea, even if there were no other cars on the road, and obviously no Ubers or taxis (because what kind of man would he be if he left his baby in this bar parking lot overnight? Plus he was pretty sure he was out of money anyway), so that left him with pretty limited choices. 

Fumbling with his phone, he tapped Sam’s contact and pressed the screen to his ear (or close enough). When it rang more than 3 times, he knew he wasn’t gonna get an answer, but he dialed again anyway. When that one went to voicemail too, he knew Sam must be dead to the world and no number of phone calls would wake him before his alarm. Now, he had been in this scenario before, but he had always been lucid enough to drive home in relative-safety (he also was usually much closer to the bunker). 

Well, he’d been on a roll with the bad decisions lately, what’s one more?

With that, he slipped his phone into his pocket - or tried to, it clattered to the floor and he nearly fell picking it up - and grabbed his keys. Normally, Dean liked to pride himself on being able to pass as tipsy even when totally shitfaced. But normally, Dean drank half of what he drank tonight and called it good. That distinction, which he had previously tried to deny to himself, was made fully apparent when he couldn’t make it all the way out to the car without stumbling on every other step (god, he hadn’t been  _ this _ drunk in  _ ages _ ), but he was committed now. 

He practically fell into the driver’s seat, and he lulled his head forward until it rested on the steering wheel. One deep breath, two, three. When he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to pass out or throw up, he started the car. 

At first, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the empty side street, Dean was driving slower than he ever had in his entire life. When nothing seemed to be going terribly wrong (he couldn’t read any of the street signs, but really, why did they matter anyway?), he picked up the pace a little to almost the speed limit. He paid very close attention (as close as he could, at least) to stop signs and traffic lights, committed to not running over anybody or risking his car (unsurprisingly, his own personal safety didn’t quite make the priority list). He was starting to feel pretty proud of himself, feeling confident that he was going to be able to make it all the way home without incident, when his surroundings started to look less familiar. The street sign and memorable tree he was watching for never seemed to come, and all of a sudden he was on some dark one lane back road with no streetlights. 

_ Fuck _ . 

_ That’s not right _ .

He knew he hadn’t passed the street yet, though. He was sure of it! Maybe if he just kept going. He probably just forgot about this stretch of the drive, that’s all. 

Dean picked up speed, feeling his muscles start to tense and his heart rate increase when nothing got any more familiar. 

Shit. If he didn’t get a grip, he was going to be lost in middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, in the middle of the night with no phone signal. He could feel the panic start to rise in the back of his throat, bringing nausea right along with it. 

_ Wait! I think I know that street! _

He thoughtlessly craned his neck to follow the sign in an attempt to read it. 

It was the blaring of a truck horn that caused his head to whip back to the front, and everything after that happened both in slow motion and instantaneously. 

When he looked out at the road ahead of him, he saw that he had fully swerved into the other lane and was a fraction of a second away from a fatal head-on collision. Thankfully, his knee-jerk reaction to slam on his brakes and swerve back as fast as possible was just barely fast enough. 

The impact he expected never came, just a faint scrape of metal-on-metal as the front left corner of the truck clipped the back left corner of the impala. Truth be told, Dean didn’t hear it anyway- the blood rushing in his ears and his own hyperventilating were overwhelmingly loud as the car spun out into the grass on the side of the road. 

Dean didn’t notice he was crying until he tried to breathe and realized he really couldn’t. He didn’t think he was injured, but by the time the car was skidding to a stop his head was already spinning a hundred times faster. Time slowed to a stop as he wrestled helplessly against his seatbelt and fought the car door until they both released him to the damp grass underneath. Vision already blurry from tears, and now going black around the edges from the hyperventilating, he squeezed his eyes shut and vomited into the grass. When he finished, and the nausea faded, it only made room for more panic that he couldn’t get rid of as he sobbed and coughed and shook uncontrollably against the side of the car. Knees tucked to his chest, sweating and shaking and barely breathing, he pulled out his phone.

He vaguely was able to make out the sound of someone speaking, not his own voice but Cas’. It seemed strange, since there was nobody anywhere close to him. But apparently his body knew faster than his brain did what (who) he needed. There was so much fear and panic inside him that it left no room for shame or worry, so he had reached out for the one who somehow always saved him and was unusually fortunate that Cas had woken up.

The voice on the other end of the phone was heavy and slurred with sleep, but so heart-wrenchingly familiar that he began crying once more (when had he stopped?). 

“Dean? What happened? Is Sam okay?”

Of course that’s what he thinks this is about. Because Dean made him think Dean didn’t want him anymore, so why else would he call?  _ Fuck _ . 

He couldn’t get his shallow, stuttered, panting breaths to slow down enough to push words through, so he just gripped on to the sound of Cas’ voice like a lifeline and prayed Cas could maybe save him from this hell, too.

“Dean. Why did you call me? Have you been drinking?”

His tone was more awake now, but also much edgier. Irritated, maybe, that Dean woke him up, frustrated, probably, that Dean wasn’t responding to him, but Dean was at least smart enough to know that Cas was angry for the same reason Dean had nearly given himself alcohol poisoning, and he had every right to be.

That wasn’t what this was about, though. Not the phone call, anyway. There were more immediate concerns at hand.

Moments passed as Dean tried to verbalize his current situation.

“I don’t know where I am.”

Honestly, Dean was proud that he was able to say any intelligible words at all.

“Okay… That doesn’t help me. Why are you not at the bunker? Where were you going?”

As the panic attack from the near-accident began to fade, the sharper awareness that comes with adrenaline went with it and everything got a little foggier. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep.

No. Wait. He’s on the phone. With Cas. Because he’s lost, and  _ super _ drunk.

“I nee-  _ Ineedyou _ , Cas.” These words came out a little more slurred than before, almost definitely giving away his inebriation. 

“We can have that conversation when you’re sober, Dean. If that’s all you called to say…” The anger was gone from Cas’ voice, and now he sounded as tired as Dean felt.

“N-no! I mean.. I- I went to, uh… went to a- a bar. And drank. Like,  _ a lot _ . You’d’ve been so pissed. Tried to drive home.” He tried to speak as slowly and clearly as he could, so maybe Cas would take him seriously.

“What were you doing driving when you’re that drunk?” Cas sounded angry again, but for a different reason now, and somehow Cas expressing concern for his wellbeing made everything about this 100 times harder. 

_ God, I love you so much. _

“Not- Not important. ‘M lost. Almost crashed Baby. Dunno where the fuck I am. Need your help. Please.”

He hoped the ‘please’ at the end would soften Cas a little, at least enough to come get him and take him to the bunker before leaving again. 

Of course, this was all riding on the assumption that Cas was anywhere close to Lebanon right now. With 3 weeks, he could be anywhere. Could be with anyone. 

If Cas wasn’t close, or wasn’t interested in coming to get him, well… wouldn’t be the first night he’d spent in his car. Though it was quickly shaping up to be the worst.

It might have only been a few seconds, but the silence that stretched out felt like a lifetime. 

“No, nevermind. Shouldn’a called. Don’t worry about it. ‘ll figure it out.” He sighed and thunked his head back against the back driver’s side door of the car, where he had collapsed who-knows-how-long ago. 

In the midst of his- let’s be honest here- wallowing, Dean must have missed something, because he can hear the ignition of a car engine through the phone. That didn’t seem right at all.

“What do you see around you, Dean? I need you to figure out where you are.” Cas had now taken on a much calmer, slower tone but underneath was barely-disguised panic. 

Dean looked around, pissed as hell that he couldn’t see much of anything in the dark except the open road and miles of farmland. He wracked his barely-functioning brain for any kind of landmark or memorable directions.

Combining his vague memory of where the bar was located (south of town) and what direction he had driven in (he must have turned the wrong way at the last intersection, or he would’ve passed the bunker’s road), he made a moderately-educated guess about what road he was on.

“I- I think I’m somewhere on 140? I know that doesn’t help much, but I can’t see  _ shit _ out here and I-” 

“I’ll find you, Dean. I’ll be there soon. Try to stay awake until I get there.”

He had never been more grateful for Cas than this moment (that is to say, Cas had once again pushed Dean to absolute maximum gratitude). Other times when Cas came to his rescue, it was generally not his fault (at least not all the way). There was usually some grander event happening that caused the problem. No, tonight Cas was purely saving Dean from himself, and there was no better metaphor for them than that.

Dean was pretty sure the call ended, because there was no more talking, so he dropped his phone into the grass (to the side of him not covered in his own sick) and rested his head back once more against the cool metal. He was distantly glad it wasn’t winter yet, or he would  _ really _ be fucked.

There was no way for Dean to know how long it was between the end of the phone call and Cas’ car pulling off the side of the road, but he counted 2 cars passing by and he’d nearly fallen asleep half a dozen times. He stayed awake, though, because Cas asked him to and he deserved at least that much. 

Everything is blurry and distant by the time Cas pulls up and the driver's door opens, but not so much so that the sight of him doesn’t knock the wind out of Dean. He’s pretty sure he would be crying like a baby again, too, if there were any tears left in his severely dehydrated body.

Cas comes close enough for Dean’s eyes to focus on him and he wants to say something, something that will make up for everything that has happened up to the present moment, but there is nothing to say, so he just breathes out a soft “Cas…” in wonder, adoration, shock, and almost definitely some shame too.

Cas crouches down in front of him, an undeniably sad expression on his face as he combs sweaty hair off Dean’s forehead. They stay like that for an eternity, silent as Dean’s eyes sink closed and Cas’ hand doesn’t leave his hair.

“Keys?” Cas finally says, softly.

Dean’s eyes open with a confused expression, at first, before his brain catches up and he gestures to the Impala’s open door. He’d turned off the car when he stopped, but the keys had just gotten dropped into the seat. 

Cas nods when he sees them sitting there and turns back to Dean with a quiet sigh. 

“Let's get you home.” He mumbles as he grabs Dean by the sides and stands, lifting him until he’s mostly standing and leaning into Cas’ chest. Now, with Cas’ arms around him and the knowledge that he won’t be spending the night on the side of some random back road, he can’t fight the need for sleep anymore. 

“ ‘m home.” He mumbles into Cas’ shoulder, as he carefully gets maneuvered into the back seat of the impala. He’s too far gone to notice it now, but later he will look back on this night and realize that Cas chose to abandon his own car on the side of the road overnight so Dean wouldn’t have to worry about Baby, and he’ll wonder why he thought he could ever live without Cas.

Dean, in all his desperation to never let go of Cas for as long as he lives, does not let go of Cas’ coat when he puts Dean down in the back seat. 

“Dean I need you let go so I can drive you home.” Cas is firm but not upset, and Dean really doesn’t want to push, but he also definitely doesn’t want to let go. 

His filter, minimal at the best of times but always reliable, is nearly gone in its entirety. It must be, because Dean then whispers

“If I let go you might leave again,”

If he had been less drunk, he would have seen Cas’ heart break all over again. 

“I’m just gonna take you home. If you want to talk tomorrow, when you’re sober, we can. But I can’t drive home until you let go.” 

Reluctantly, Dean loosens his grip and Cas eases away, closing the door and settling into the front seat. 

Dean is fading fast by the time the car starts pulling away, but he can’t hold back the quiet (but surprisingly understandable) words. 

“Can’t believe you came.”

He thinks he might hear a soft response, but he’ll never be for sure. 

“After all these years, I still always come when you call.” 

Dean is out for the whole drive, which can’t have been more than 25 minutes, but he’s roused awake once more (and a little more aware) when his door opens again. This time, they’re in the bunker garage, and Cas’ arms are pulling him out of the back seat. It takes a minute of adjusting, as Dean is far from able to support himself, but eventually Dean has an arm braced around Cas’ shoulder, whose arm is wound tightly around Dean’s waist, and they walk slowly to Dean’s bedroom. Cas hesitates in the hall for a second, but Dean pays his emotion no mind and continues on (pulling Cas with him) into the bedroom. 

Cas, Dean’s angel in every sense, carefully sets him down on the bed and gets to work pulling off his shoes and jeans. Once Dean is only in his socks, boxers, and t-shirt, he grabs one of cas’ hands between both of his and finally lies back on his own pillow. 

“Stay.” He whispers simply, staring right into Cas’ eyes for the first time all night. It’s cas who breaks and looks at the ground. 

“That’s not wise, Dean. Not until we can talk.” 

“Please. Hate this room without you. Stay.” Dean’s words leave no room for argument, and Cas was never good at denying Dean anything, so he sighs in resignation and walks around to what was once his side of the bed. 

Dean smiles for the first time in over 3 weeks when Cas lies down next to him, and refuses to let go of Cas’ hand. Dean always was a clingy drunk when Cas was around. 

His eyes droop closed slowly, and for one precious moment everything is back to exactly how it should be. Before he drifts, he has one extremely important question. 

“Will you stay?”

“Yes, Dean, I’ll still be here when you wake up. Go to sleep now.”

Dean might have dreamed the threading of fingers through his hair; he never asks.

\-----

Dean might have expected to be at least slightly numb to the effects of a hangover after so many in a row, but there was no such luck to be found for him. No, this was indeed the mother of all hangovers, and he wanted to curl up and waste away the moment he had enough consciousness to feel the pounding in his head and sickness in his stomach. It was a battle from the very start over which would win out- the headache demanding he stay in his dark, quiet bedroom or the overwhelming nausea that insisted on a visit to the bathroom.

He rolls over with a groan, burying his face in the pillow as he wonders what happened last night, and what the consequences of his inevitable mistakes might be. 

It takes several more minutes for Dean to gather the willpower to crack open an eye, and he fully expects this morning to be the same as the past 2 weeks’- getting sick in the bathroom on his way to the kitchen for some coffee (or, more accurately, the base for his morning drink), getting lectured at by Sam on his way back to his bedroom, maybe passing out for a few more hours before he settles in for an afternoon of regret and self-loathing. It’s not an enjoyable routine, or even a tolerable one, but it’s certainly no worse than he deserves and he is sticking to it.

That was the plan, at least. But with his eyes half-open and starting to focus, it’s already different because he can see a glass of water, some pills, and a note sitting on his bedside table. The curiosity is enough to motivate him to sit upright in the bed, though he settles back against the headboard when the room begins to spin. 

When the room slows and he is no longer in danger of getting sick all over his floor, he reaches for the pills and glass of water first. By nature of their presence on his table, he is aware of a couple different (incredibly stupid) options for his choices last night. He clearly remembers deciding to hit a bar instead of staying in, which was automatically a mistake, but it all starts to fade after that. 

Either A, he did something pretty stupid and brought a girl (or guy) back with him who just happened to be nice enough to let him sleep and leave this for him (he’s distantly aware this is total bullshit because he’s still wearing clothes, but it  _ does _ look like someone else was in his bed), 

Or. 

It’s the other option that scares him because he knows how many times he’s thought about doing it, and he knows that if he was dumb enough to get blackout drunk then he was also dumb enough to do all the other things he knows he shouldn’t do. 

He knows exactly one person (perhaps aside from Sam, though he has long since lost his sympathy for Dean’s coping methods) who cares enough about his well being to bring him painkillers. Exactly one person who knows him well enough to leave a note if he’s getting up first, because he knows Dean still gets worried sometimes.

**Dean-**

**Coffee and bacon waiting in the kitchen**

**You’re not getting out of having**

**this conversation**

**-Cas**

_ Fuck. Shit. shitshitshit. _

Dean takes an unsteady breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He knows Cas is right, too- there’s no way out of this conversation, whatever it is going to be. He finishes the glass of water, silently grateful, and ever so slowly pushes himself out of bed. 

It takes some time to move around, mostly because he doesn’t want to fall over or throw up on his way, but he eventually has put on sweatpants, stopped to relieve his bladder and brush his teeth, and finally wanders into the bunker’s kitchen. He is eternally grateful that it’s only Cas sitting at the kitchen table, and Sam is nowhere to be found. This is not going to be the kind of conversation he wants anybody else to hear. 

Dean doesn’t meet Cas’ eyes as he walks to sit across from him at the table, either in shame (for a long list of varying reasons) or in fear of what he might see looking back at him. Probably both. 

All the time and effort he put into trying to forget why he loves Cas so much is rendered completely pointless as a fresh cup of coffee and small plate of fresh (real) bacon are pushed into his field of vision where he was staring at the tabletop, because he knows he loves Cas a little more today for his seemingly endless patience. That patience comes back to bite though, because Dean also becomes distinctly aware that he is going to have to be the one to break the silence. 

He grips the coffee mug and draws it to his lips, one last play for time to figure out exactly what the hell he is supposed to say when he isn’t at all sure what happened to get Cas here in the first place. Whatever it is, though, it was bad and he knows Cas well enough to know what kind of questions he will have. Dean steadies himself in the moments before he speaks. 

He looks up to find a carefully blank- but decidedly soft- expression looking back at him, and seeing Cas’ face gives him pause. God, he  _ missed _ Cas. Missed him in a different way than he has ever missed anyone. Missed him in the kind of way that tore him apart from the inside out. And on top of that, no matter how many times he imagined Cas’ face over the last 3 weeks, he is always caught off guard by how much he enjoys just  _ looking _ at him. 

The words that have been suffocating him find their way out.

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” It doesn’t even come close to expressing the depth of emotion he carries with him about what happened, but it’s the best his brain can come up with.

Cas’ eyes soften a little, and he takes a breath before he responds carefully. 

“What do you remember about last night?”

There is no doubt in Dean’s mind that he has to answer every single question as honestly as possible if he wants this conversation to go the way he needs it to. 

“I remember being at the bar, not much else. I remember it wasn’t good.” 

Cas looks like he debates with himself on what to say next- probably whether or not to tell Dean what happened. He really has no desire to find out, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t in the cards.

“Yes, you went to a bar. Cleaned them out, probably, based on how intoxicated you were. From what I understand, you tried to drive home yourself, which is a whole different issue, and you got lost on your way back. You called me around… 2:30?” 

He pauses just briefly to make sure Dean is following, and Dean puts his face in his hands. Of all the ways he could have broken down and called Cas, this has to be one of the least dignified. 

“It was very difficult to figure out where you were, because I believe you narrowly missed having a car wreck and it gave you a panic attack. But I found you, and brought you back. Your car only has a scratch, don’t worry about her.”

Dean finds it incredibly unsettling how clinical and emotionless he is in retelling this story, and it leaves him with a long list of questions. He can’t help how his chest tightens a little when Cas reassures him about Baby- it speaks volumes about how well Cas knows him that he thought to mention it before anything else, and without the slightest hint of judgement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean wonders if Cas has grown attached to the car too.

Dean just nods in response when he realized Cas was waiting for some acknowledgement. What does someone even say to that? Dean is not at all the type to be embarrassed, not ever, but hearing about the condition Cas found him in is humiliating. Even so, even after everything, Cas still drove who-knows-how-long to find him in the middle of nowhere and bring him home.

He will never be deserving of that much love. 

A moment of quiet settles between the two of them, undoubtedly Cas giving him an opportunity to speak for himself before he continues- Dean doesn’t take it. If Cas is going to be pissed at him, as he has every right to be, there’s no reason to delay the inevitable. 

“I-... I don’t understand, Dean.” is what he finally says. It catches Dean off guard- that is not at all what he was expecting. 

Cas sighs, looking down at the table before daring to meet Dean’s eyes again and continuing. 

“This isn’t like you at all. Not anymore. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Well, isn’t that the million dollar question? Dean huffs an almost-laugh at the ridiculousness of the question- it’s a dry, bitter sound. He studies Cas’ face for a moment, noticing the deep purple circles around his eyes and the apparent frailty of his body. It’s obvious to him at that moment that Cas has not done any better than Dean in their time apart. He starts to wonder why that’s what Cas is asking, instead of about what happened before, but he stops the thought before it fully develops. Cas isn’t here to take him back, he’s just expressing a friendly concern. Surely.

“Where have you been staying?” It’s not at all what he was trying to say, but it’s the thought that was weighing on him the most. He fights off a blush at his mistake, because it really isn’t his business anymore anyway. He lost the right to ask questions like that and expect answers. 

“A motel in town.” Cas is genuine in his answer, and it’s obvious that he knows it isn’t what Dean was expecting. Normally when Cas leaves, he really goes for it and it’s hard to track him down. He stayed right in their neighborhood, though, this time. 

Dean almost hates to ask, just in case the answer isn’t something he wants to hear, but it’s just too surprising for him to keep it in. He supposes he shouldn’t be all that surprised, considering Cas was obviously able to come get him last night (this morning?) so he couldn’t have been that far, but it doesn’t answer why he didn’t go further- why, 3 weeks later, he didn’t really leave. 

“Why stay?” He prepares himself for just about anything, but the answer he gets in return completely shatters him.

“I was hoping you might change your mind,” his words are incredibly soft, like there’s a chance he wasn’t meant to hear them at all. 

“I kept looking for cases all over, but I hadn’t found one yet, and I had hoped…” Cas is staring at the table now like Dean had earlier, and it strikes Dean like a physical blow what he’s saying. 

“You…” He mutters under his breath. He starts and stops the same sentence several times without getting any further. 

“Cas, I-...” He trails off again without knowing where he was going with it. Where does he even start? His initial impulse is to wrap his arms around Cas and break down, telling Cas over and over that he was stupid and he took back every word, that this has been 3 of the most miserable weeks of his life and he never wants to be without Cas again. 

“I know that isn’t why you called and I promise I am not going to bother you, I really will leave when I have a case, I just… When you called I had to make sure you were alright…” 

There are so many things wrong with what’s happening here. Dean is reminded once more how deeply and truly he’s fucked everything up, and his mind races through the hangover fog to find a reasonable response. 

“I’m sorry for what happened, Cas.” The words come flying out of his mouth before he has the time to think about it. It’s the one thought that he’s pretty sure he could repeat until he dies and not cover it all. 

This, evidently, is not what Cas was anticipating Dean to say, and Dean thinks there might be something like hope that sparks behind those tired blue eyes, but it’s buried deep below an ocean of sadness. A small, resigned almost-smile passes across Cas’ face and then it’s gone. That’s enough for Dean’s forced resolve to start crumbling- perhaps there’s a chance that Sam was right this whole time (damn him).

“I am, as well. But I know better now than to try and change your mind when you don’t want it to be changed.” Cas looks like that’s all he expects to get out of Dean as he says it, and shifts his weight like he’s about to stand. Without stopping to think about it, Dean reaches out for him and grabs Cas by the wrist to keep him at the table, meeting his eyes and holding them. If Cas is at all willing to work this out, despite all of Dean’s countless mistakes, he can’t let anything get in the way of that.

“Change my mind. Tell me it’s gonna be ok and that we can figure this out.” He’s aware he probably looks a little desperate, but he’s entirely desperate and he can’t muster the pride to be embarrassed. 

Cas’ eyes widen a little as he processes what Dean is really saying. At some point since they’ve been talking, Dean came to the conclusion that the only reason that he got to have Cas the way he wanted him in the first place was because they honestly talked about how they felt. Plus, if there is anyone he could trust with that much vulnerability, it's definitely Cas. It’s not like he has much to lose anymore anyway. 

Cas measures Dean’s expression for a moment, then stands from his seat without another word. Dean feels his heart drop from his chest to the polished concrete floor when he rises, but it quickly jumps up into his throat when Cas walks around and takes a seat next to him. He grabs Dean’s hands between his own and his eyes are pleading, begging. 

“What did I do, Dean? What happened to make you push me away like that? I thought you just didn’t want me that way anymore but you seem about as miserable as I am. I don’t understand. If you would talk to me I’m sure we can fix just about anything.” Dean can see the hope bubble up in Cas a little more now, and it’s more reassuring than anything else. They could fix it. 

The next thought to hit him clear across the face is that he made Cas think it was  _ his fault _ . He tried to recall everything he said, and everything he did that night, and  _ holy fucking shit. Of course _ Cas would think he did something- Dean didn’t give him any clue about what had happened. He just shut down like he always does. He wondered why nothing Cas said in their initial argument made him feel any better, but it’s because he had no idea what they were even fighting about. 

Dean would give his left arm to go back to that night and stop this before it started, with all he knows now. God he’s so  _ stupid.  _ Dean crumples a little in his seat, slouching forward and squeezing Cas’ hands as he tries to catch his breath and figure out how to say what he’s feeling. 

He should probably start at the beginning.

“Do you remember that last hunt?” His words are soft and he can’t quite bring himself to look up yet. 

“Of course. It was pretty standard, I thought?” Cas obviously doesn’t know where he’s going with this, and Dean silently appreciates that he isn’t rushing the explanation.

“I guess so. But it was our first one after… after…” his breath shakes, and this time he actually has to look up at Cas to make sure he knows what Dean is talking about. His eyes are soft, understanding. He smiles at Dean just barely, just enough to show he’s remembering the moment when they had finally gotten their heads out of their asses, and nods as the smile fades back to sadness. Cas has obviously drawn his own conclusion.

“Hunting made you realize this wasn’t going to work?” Is his venturing guess, and it’s completely wrong but also kinda true. Dean hates himself all over again, and just goes for it. 

“No! No. I mean, kinda, I guess. But it’s not really that. After that guy, Jacob or whatever his name was, came back into the house and saw his wife there… I- I just… and then he was holding her body… and all I could think about was all the times that’s been us, and how much harder it would be the next time I lost you, and with this job there’s no way to stop it because something always happens, and dammit I really love you and if something happened to you I think I would actually die this time, and that’s so fucking scary. I- I- I’m so scared, Cas.” His voice is cracking and shaking all over the place with unreleased emotion, and he’s squeezing Cas’ hands tight enough to bruise. He met Cas’ eyes somewhere in the middle of his little speech the emotion he saw there made his eyes water further. 

Cas leans forward, the hinge on the attached seat swinging so he’s right in Dean’s space as he pulls his hands away and wraps both arms firmly around Dean’s shoulders. Dean falls easily into his chest, face pressed tightly into his neck, and Cas presses his nose into Dean’s hair. 

“I wish you would have told me.” Cas whispers into his hair. Dean isn’t really sure what to say to that, because he absolutely should have said something before now, so he just wraps his arms tightly around Cas’ waist and grabs fistfuls of the back of his jacket. 

“Dean… there is never a time that I’m not terrified of something happening to you. It’s always there, in the back of my mind. And neither of us can promise that nothing will happen, you’re right. Our lives are dangerous, and short of retirement there’s not a lot we can do to change that. But for over a decade now my entire existence has been calibrated around keeping you safe, and that will never change. I also know that you are a selfless man who would give anything to keep your family safe, and I would confidently trust you with my life any day as I have before,” Dean is quiet as he listens to Cas speak softly against the side of his head, and if he’s crying into Cas’ shoulder then that’s not really anybody’s business.

“Something could happen. That’s always a risk. But the risk doesn’t make our time any less meaningful. In fact, I think it’s more meaningful because we know what it feels like to be without the other. Being apart from you by force would cause unspeakable pain- but being apart from you because you chose it? That is far, far worse. So please don’t ever think that ending this relationship will do any less damage than your worst fear. Just talk to me. I truly thought you didn’t want me anymore.” As he spoke, his words got a little shakier and a little breathier until by the last sentence, Dean is pretty sure Cas is crying with him. Not that he could possibly blame the guy, now knowing how much damage his fear and emotional stupidity had caused. 

Dean relaxed his grip on Cas’ coat slightly to pull back just far enough to meet his eyes. There was honest-to-chuck grief in Cas’ expression, and it broke Dean’s heart all over again. His eyes slipped closed and he rested his forehead against Cas’. 

“I’m so sorry. You’re right. We’re always better as a team. Are we gonna be ok?” His voice is barely even a whisper, but he’s also pretty sure he couldn’t manage anything more.

Cas brings his hands up from Dean’s back to cup each side of his face softly.

“Of course we’re gonna be ok, Dean. I understand how you feel- I feel that way as well. We just have to talk things through first, before either of us makes a decision like that again. But, Dean?”

Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s face and puts enough space between them that Dean can clearly see his whole facial expression as it changes to one of hard frustration.

“If you put yourself in unnecessary danger or nearly give yourself alcohol poisoning like that ever again, I will wreck your car myself. It has been a very long time since I was as scared as I was when you called me.” 

There is no room for argument in his tone, and Dean decides taking the chastisement is safer than coming up with a rebuttal to the threat. He’s only mostly sure that Cas is kidding, so he takes the statement of forgiveness for what it is and nods jerkily between Cas’ hands. The smile that warms Cas’ face eases the knot Dean has had in his chest for weeks now, and he feels tense muscles all over his body relax at the realization that he hadn’t actually lost him. Dean releases his grip on Cas’ coat, smoothing his hands over Cas’ back before (finally) pulling him into a soft, passionate kiss. 

Cas pulls away with a quiet chuckle after a few moments. 

“If we’re going to be doing any more of that I think we should relocate, and take it slowly.” He plants a tender, affectionate kiss on Dean’s forehead with a soft smile and stands up, bringing Dean up with him. Dean smiles, genuine but watery, and runs a hand through Cas’ hair.

“I really fuckin’ missed you.” He whispered, almost to himself. Cas just grins right back at him, eyes running all over Dean’s face like he’s scared he forgot a detail in their separation. He plants a sweet, closed-mouth kiss right on Dean’s smile and grabs his hand, starting towards the bedroom. 

“I missed you too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluffiest smut you'll ever read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty proud of this considering I haven't written smut in AGES. Hopefully it's at least mildly enjoyable! I am, however, horrible with in-the-throes-of-passion dialogue, so it is what it is.

Dean follows a couple steps behind Cas, reminding himself that they are in no rush. When he steps inside and closes the door behind him, he finds that Cas is just standing and looking around the room with some mix of fondness and melancholy. He doesn’t turn around when Dean closes the door, so Dean steps up behind him and slides his arms around Cas’ waist, resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder. 

“I’m so glad you’re home. Thank you for coming to get me. And for the painkillers, and the water, and for leaving a note. And thank you for putting up with me and all my stunted emotional development.” The words are soft in Cas’ ear, and practically bursting with pure adoration. Dean presses soft kisses along the side of Cas’ neck, from behind his ear to the top of his shoulder. Obviously Cas was thinking ahead, because his coat and suit jacket are already being shed and draped across the back of a chair. 

Cas hums in response and tilts his head to the side, stepping back into Dean’s embrace and layering his hands over Dean’s where they have come to rest on his stomach. 

“There is nothing I would not do for you, Dean. Surely you know that.” Cas pauses briefly, standing upright in Dean’s arms and turning around to face him. Cas wraps his arms loosely around Dean’s neck with a mischievous spark in his captivatingly blue eyes, and Dean knows he is in for the greatest makeup sex he’s ever had. 

“However, be that as it may, I think you should probably make it up to me. It has been a very trying time.” He laments with mock seriousness, and Dean fails to contain a small smirk as he pulls the angel in for a proper kiss, all lips and tongue and a little teeth. 

“Anything you want, sweetheart, you got it.” Dean says against Cas’ lips, and has already moved his hands to make quick work of the buttons on Cas’ white dress shirt. As soon as the last button is undone, Cas is already tugging the hem of Dean’s t-shirt up his torso. There is a mutual moment of giggling as their arms tangle, fighting for who has to stop to let the other finish. Finally Dean relents, letting Cas pull the shirt over his head before he pushes the button up off Cas’ shoulders and tugs off the undershirt beneath. 

Hands on Dean's hips, Cas turns Dean and walks him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Dean has the fleeting thought that maybe he should text Sam and tell him to stay out of the bunker for the day, but figures that Sam is probably smart enough to know what's going down if he saw Cas this morning. The knowledge that they will likely not be interrupted or overheard adds a little extra  _ umph  _ to his enthusiasm and he kisses Cas a little more hungrily.

Dean's hands did not slow down when he got Cas' shirts off, they just started on his belt and dress pants instead, and he is suddenly filled with gratitude that he himself was only in the sweatpants he threw on when he woke up, because Cas just hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pushes them down in one smooth motion. 

Cas pushes lightly against Dean's hips to urge him onto the bed, and he sits on the edge willingly. Either satisfied with the progress or just too desperate to touch, Cas lets go of his hips in favor of threading one hand through Dean's hair and cupping his jaw with the other as they reacquaint themselves with the inside of the other's mouth. They really had only been together a handful of weeks before everything happened, so Dean certainly did not have Cas as memorized as he would like to. Judging by Cas' matching enthusiasm, he shares the sentiment, and they are nothing if not thorough. 

For all the time he went without practice, Dean is pretty proud of how quickly he is able to get Cas' pants undone and pushed to the floor. As soon as they're off, Dean is moving back towards the head of the bed and pulling Cas right along with him. Cas settles over Dean, elbows braced on either side of his head and lying between his legs. Dean now has both hands cradling the back of Cas' neck, fingers threaded through the short hair at the back of his head. When Cas finds the position he wants to be in, he takes control and slows the kiss way down. It had been building heat and desperation, coming to a fever pitch when they both landed on the bed, but he brought them back to a pace that was slow and affectionate, nothing short of worshipful. 

Dean pulled back just a little, breath heavy and forehead braced against Cas'.

"What do you want?" The words are nothing more than a breath breathed into their shared space, but there is no doubt Cas heard. He stays quiet for a moment, eyes closed as he considers his options. They had discovered a pattern in the short time that they had been together, where Dean very much appreciates not having any responsibilities or decisions to make while Cas prefers to have the control when they are in bed together. They never take it to any extremes, but both are luxuries they are rarely afforded in any other circumstance and it makes their time together that much more special and fulfilling. 

“Make love to me,” is what Cas finally whispers in response, and Dean huffs a soft laugh but nods his ascent. They had not yet made it to full-on penetration in their initial explorations of each other, but in this moment Dean shares Cas’ need for that much closeness and can’t think of a better way to show Cas how he’s feeling. 

_ God _ , love turned him into such a girl. 

He kinda doesn’t hate it, though. Not with Cas, anyway.

When Dean decides to do something, he gives it everything he’s got, and sex is no different. So he kisses Cas languidly, with all the longing and love that had consumed him in their time apart, and pushes on Cas’ shoulder until he rolls over. Dean rolls with him, now sitting on top and straddling Cas’ hips with nothing but two pairs of boxers between them. Yeah, he could work with this. 

Cas groans softly as Dean rolls his hips over Cas’ growing erection, and Dean can hardly believe he had allowed himself to forget how beautiful Cas is when he’s like this. Keeping a slow, unhurried pace in the movement of his hips, Dean runs his hands across as much bare skin as he can reach and kisses his way across Cas’ jaw to under his ear. They had found themselves to be relatively talkative in bed, particularly in quiet moments like this they would whisper their pleasure and affection, but there was none of that this time. There were no words to be spoken now- this was all about physical proof.

Cas’ breathing gets heavier and he lets out a soft groan, which makes Dean smile against his skin. Cas squeezes Dean’s hips once before running his hands up and down his back affectionately. 

Dean slowed his progress down Cas’ neck, settling where it meets his shoulder to suck a bright red mark there. When he was satisfied with it, he sat up enough to rest his forehead against Cas’ and cupped his jaw gently. 

“Next time I do something stupid like that… remind me about this.” Dean sighs, hips still as he takes a second to soak in the feel of Cas’ skin against his. Cas’ mouth plays into a small smirk and he nudges his nose against Dean’s. 

“What stupid thing are you referring to? There’s been a lot of them lately.” He teases softly, smirk breaking into an amused grin. Dean sits up straight over him in mock offense and shoves Cas’ shoulder into the bed.

“You ass, I’m trying to have a moment here.” He mustered up the most convincing glare he could manage (but he was definitely still smiling).Cas laughed and sat up underneath him to lean against the headboard, threading a hand through Dean’s hair and settling it on the back of his head. 

“Sorry. I will remind you, but I think I would prefer that you just not do any more stupid stuff. There is no aspect of the last three weeks that I would like to repeat. But we’ve both done enough stupid stuff over the years to know that we can work through whatever happens. I don’t want you to worry about it anymore.” Cas has the barest hint of a smile on his face and his expression is soft and open, a look that Dean knows is just for him and that he will never get enough of. His words lift a little more of the weight off of Dean’s shoulders.

Cas takes advantage of the opportunity and presses a line of wet kisses down Dean’s neck, stopping to pay particular attention to each little spot he knows drives Dean crazy.

“We’re just gonna move forward, ok? You’re already forgiven.” He whispers and Dean just groans, giving a short, jerky nod. Dean gathers all his willpower to put his hands on Cas’ shoulders and push him back with a mischievous smirk. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” He drags his hands sensually down the front of Cas’ chest, purposefully brushing his nipples before grabbing the elastic of Cas’ boxers. Cas drops his head back against the headboard as his eyes slip closed. 

Dean presses a lingering kiss to his lips before scooting back and dragging Cas’ boxers down his legs. Loathe to move away from Cas more than once, he takes the opportunity to strip off his own boxers too and toss both onto the floor. On his way back up the bed, he leans over to the nightstand and pulls out the bottle of lube kept there. Dean holds it in one hand and settles back down over Cas’ hips, both moaning immediately at the contact. He strokes Cas’ cheekbone with his thumb tenderly before he does anything else, and when Cas opens his eyes Dean catches them. 

“You sure?” He asks softly. Cas just smiles and turns his head to press a kiss to Dean’s hand. 

“As long as you’re sure, too.” 

Dean just smiles back at him in response and kisses his forehead, before sitting up straight and opening the cap on the lube. He squirts some onto a couple of his own fingers, but Cas grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“Let me do it.”

Dean looks at him, trying to see how serious Cas is. 

“Really? You sure?”

Cas chuckles and swipes the lube off Dean’s hand with 2 fingers. 

“You can stop asking me if I’m sure - if I am ever not sure about something, I’ll tell you. You’re just gonna have to tell me how to do it.” Dean holds his hands up in defense and shakes his head with a small (definitely  _ not _ nervous) smile.

Dean had a few experiences with guys before Cas, but nothing further than a quick and dirty blow job- certainly nothing that meant anything, not like this does. The only person who had ever put anything up there was himself, and only on the odd occasion that he had the luxury of extended, uninterrupted personal time. But this is  _ Cas _ . And judging by the look on his face, he is every bit as excited about this as Dean is. There’s no reason to be nervous, not about this. 

“Ok - it’s pretty straightforward though.” He rises up to his knees instead of sitting on Cas’ thighs, and watches as Cas spreads the lube to coat his first two fingers. With his clean hand, he cups Dean’s jaw and strokes his cheek with his thumb before trailing his hand down his neck and chest, to settle on his hip as he wraps his other arm around Dean’s body. 

With only a second of hesitation, Cas presses his first finger against the tight ring of muscle with a shallow, stuttered breath. Dean, for his part, inhaled as far as he could and let out a shaky exhale as Cas pushed slowly in, a centimeter at a time. Cas leaned forward to press soft kisses along Dean’s collarbone as he pushed his finger all the way inside.

“You, Dean Winchester, are a very beautiful man.” He murmurs, holding still for just a moment before he begins to slowly work the finger in and out.

Dean grins, pressing his nose into Cas’ hair to hide the faint blush creeping into his cheeks. 

“Are you sure you’re not just feeling sentimental now that you have a finger in my ass?” Dean teases softly, but he knows Cas can hear the smile in his voice through his panted breaths. It doesn’t take long for Dean to relax around Cas.

“What I’m sure about is that I told you to not ask if I’m sure about things.” Cas punctuates his point by adding another finger and pushing it in much quicker than the first. Dean gasps at the stretch and huffs a small chuckle at Cas’ sense of humor. Cas rubs his thumb back and forth across Dean’s hip bone and rests his head against Dean’s shoulder, returning to his gentle pace. When he feels Dean relax around him, and starts hearing him make soft moans instead of deep breaths, Cas decides to take this opportunity to explore Dean a little bit. 

Dean gasps and lets out a truly obscene moan when Cas twists his wrist and bends his fingers just a little, and the sound makes Cas groan softly. Knowing  _ he _ is doing that to Dean turns him on like nothing else has. 

Dean pushes back onto his fingers and uses a hand on his cheek to draw Cas’ face up towards his, leaning forward into a heated kiss. Cas, quick study that he is, strokes right over Dean’s prostate again with much more intention this time. Dean groans unabashedly into the kiss and brings his other hand down to stroke Cas. It was a little clumsy but Cas didn’t seem to mind, crying out when Dean’s hand wrapped around him. 

“Alright sweetheart we’re gonna have to move this along if you want to get to the good part, you’re a little too good at this,” Dean mumbles with an almost-chuckle after a couple more strokes, a third finger, and a little extra lube. Cas nods quickly in agreement and withdraws his hand. Dean grabs the lube bottle from the bed next to them and squirts a little extra onto his own hand, before snapping the cap shut and setting it on the bedside table. He sits back to get a good look at Cas’ face and pauses for just a second to admire how unreasonably attractive Cas is before he spreads the lube over Cas’ cock.

Cas shudders, just a little, eyes locked onto where Dean is having a little too much fun prepping Cas.

“Aren’t we moving this along?” He mutters, breathing labored as he tries not to let the 3 weeks of separation ruin all of his stamina. Dean chuckles and mumbles an apology (one he obviously does not mean) as he moves closer to Cas, still gripping Cas’ erection as he lines himself up. He eyes Cas, stretching out the moment just long enough to make him huff in impatience before pressing a smiley kiss to Cas’ lips and ever-so-slowly sinking down onto him for the very first time. 

In some ways, it feels exactly like he expected it to, but mostly it turns everything he knew about sex upside down. Dean is confident that it has fairly little to do with the physical sensation and everything to do with the person he is with. Never in his life has he been this close to someone who knows him so deeply, who he trusts so completely, or who he loves so much. The sense of completeness that he feels when he fully settles on Cas’ lap is overwhelming and he revels in it. 

Love has _ actually _ turned him into the whole damned chick flick.

Dean closes his eyes tightly and takes a slow, deep breath to force his muscles to relax and adjust to the brand new sensation. When he finally opens them again, he finds Cas staring at him in nothing less than awe and wonder, and is completely helpless to do anything other than match his expression. 

They just hold that adoring eye contact until Dean feels all-the-way good about having a whole cock in his ass, and as soon as he starts to move Cas lets out one of the sexiest sounds Dean has ever heard in his entire life. It is a low, breathy moan that exaggerates the gravelly tone of his voice and Dean wonders if he could come from Cas’ sounds alone. 

When Dean has pulled himself up far enough that Cas is only barely still inside, he pauses for a fraction of a second before sinking back down considerably faster than he had the first time. The feeling that accompanies that motion convinces him that he never wants to do anything else but this for the rest of his life. 

_ “Fuuuuuck,”  _ is how Dean ultimately vocalizes that thought, and the kiss that follows is uncoordinated, sloppy, and perfect. 

“Never-  _ uhhh _ never felt anything like this before.  _ Fuck _ , you feel so goood,  _ Deeeean _ ”

Hearing Cas pant those words into the space between them motivates Dean like nothing else to make this good for his angel. He rolls his hips (which,  _ oh my god) _ before rising back up and settling into a solid rhythm that robs both of them of the ability to vocalize any coherent thought beyond various swears and obscene expressions of pleasure.

It takes less than two minutes for Cas to start meeting his bounces with upward thrusts of his own, which adds another level that threatens to unravel Dean. He is really rather enjoying riding Cas like this, having some of the control, but he has no delusions about who is really in charge. It catches him a little by surprise (in the  _ best _ way) when Cas pulls him into a bruising kiss and legitimately fucking  _ growls _ in his ear.

“My turn.” 

Cas grips his shoulder and pushes him to the side, effectively rolling them over so Dean is now lying beneath Cas, legs spread wide. The dominance of it, combined with the growl in his ear, sends Dean dangerously close to the edge and his dick has not been touched yet once. It’s a little startling but also definitely hot to realize that Cas could definitely make him come untouched (though this could also be because he hasn’t had a real orgasm since Cas left, though not for lack of trying). 

Cas taking charge, as previously discovered, is a huge turn on for Dean. He had chosen to take charge at the beginning because he felt like he had something to prove, but if he is honest with himself this is totally better. Cas is strong and solid, never faltering as he thrusts into Dean, but despite the energy there is no doubt that Cas is still getting exactly what he asked for- this is absolutely them. Making love. Who’d’ve thought Dean was that type? Cas did, obviously. And shit if he wasn’t right, because Dean was enjoying the hell out of this intimacy. Not that anybody ever had to know that, of course. 

Cas was progressively getting louder, and Dean couldn’t get enough. He was spilling a constant string of sounds that were alternatively moans, gasps, and most often Dean’s name. At one point, Dean tilts his hips just so, and all of a sudden Cas is ramming straight into his prostate. It consistently blows Dean’s mind how Cas can manage to be so  _ strong _ with him and yet still be so  _ tender _ in the way he touches Dean, but he somehow perfected the balance. There is no denying the power in the way Cas moves his hips, but when he leans forward to press his lips against Dean’s it is pure light and love and worship.

“C-Cas I- I’m close,” he breathes against Cas’s lips and Cas grins back at him, eyes closed and forehead resting against Dean’s.

“Me too,” He huffs back, voice strained. Dean threads a hand through Cas’ hair and the other drags along his back, no doubt leaving thin red lines in their wake. The scratches and one soft tug on Cas’ hair is all it takes to send Cas over the edge and into a white-hot oblivion. As he comes inside Dean (safely, of course, because an angel can neither contract nor spread illness), Dean is overwhelmed in his entirety by the feeling. That, combined with the “ _ DEAN _ ” that rolled off Cas’ tongue and Cas’ hand clumsily coming up to stroke him once, twice, finished him completely. He shamelessly cried out Cas’ name as he came between them, muscles constricting around Cas who was not yet soft inside him. For an indeterminate amount of time, nothing existed except him and Cas, and it was glorious. 

Eventually, Cas slipped out of him (not his favorite feeling) and leaned far enough over the side of the bed to grab Dean’s discarded t shirt to at least partially clean them up. Cas’ muscles only held out for so long, before he fumbled the wad of fabric off the bed and collapsed into Dean’s side. 

Dean moved his arm to wrap around Cas’ shoulders, and cradled him to his chest, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.

“I love you, Dean. Enough that it scares me. But you’re also the greatest and most important thing to ever happen to me in my long, long life, and I think I’m okay with being scared if it’s for you. We’ll just do our best to keep each other safe, like we always have.” Cas whispers to him once their breathing has leveled out a little more, and Dean leans his head to rest against Cas’. 

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, too, Cas. I have always known that things get bad real fast when I lose you, but the last few weeks really showed me that I just can’t live without you. Not after having this. You have no idea how much you really saved me.” He drags his fingertips up and down Cas’ arm, now draped across his chest.

After a moment, Cas looks up at Dean lovingly, and an idea too great to pass up flashes through his mind. He grabs Cas’ wrist and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, right where he left a scar all those years ago. He shoots a wink at Cas and draws on all the charm he can muster.

“Feel free to grip me tight any time.” 

Cas snorts loudly and laughs at him, open and comfortable, and probably a little disbelieving that Dean had only just now come up with such a line. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder and leans up to plant a chaste kiss on his self-satisfied grin. 

“You are an idiot.” Cas sighs when the laughter dies down, but he leaves his hand nonetheless, and Dean falls asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in a very long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you might be interested in something longer (perhaps a slow-burn prequel to this one? Maybe an AU? feel free to make suggestions), let me know! I'm so interested to hear what you thought.
> 
> One of the things I love the most about fanfic is that it allows people who are emotionally invested in characters and their stories to pick out aspects of those characters that they resonate with or that don't get much screen time. I think that is kinda what happened here- Dean shows more weakness in this story than we might see in canon, because I wish they showed it more (s15 is much better about that), and Cas is long-suffering and emotional (also something more present in s15). One of my favorite things about writing stories using other people's characters is being able to develop them in ways the canon does not, so hopefully you appreciated that aspect of this story too. 
> 
> I've been inactive in this fandom for some years now, so I'd love to make some friends! Again, thanks for reading, have an awesome rest of your day ^_^


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